


Day Nineteen: Gunnison to Alamosa

by pianoforeplay



Series: Pavement Tune [3]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-24
Updated: 2011-10-24
Packaged: 2017-10-24 22:04:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/268365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pianoforeplay/pseuds/pianoforeplay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for the prompt 'dirt' and initially posted <a href="http://pianoforeplay.livejournal.com/26207.html">here</a> on 9/26/09.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Day Nineteen: Gunnison to Alamosa

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt 'dirt' and initially posted [here](http://pianoforeplay.livejournal.com/26207.html) on 9/26/09.

Jared's chest aches when he finally reaches the summit, his body completely covered in sweat and sand as the air whips his hair across his eyes. He has no idea what the elevation is anymore, but the air is undoubtedly thinner, making his lungs and muscles scream from lack of oxygen. He settles his hands on his hips and turns to look back behind him where Jensen's still struggling up the last slope, feet sinking deep into the sand with every step.

"Jesus _Christ_ ," Jensen grunts as he gets closer, voice carrying over the wind. "Never-- never fuckin' doin' this again. Holy shit."

Jared can't help but grin, gaze sweeping over Jensen's bare shoulders, lingering on the way the sweat clings and slides down his chest. The sun's already reddened his skin despite the sunblock he'd applied earlier, freckles standing up clear and stark. Jared catches himself remembering how they'd looked in a different light, how he'd spent what felt like hours connecting them, drawing constellations with his tongue. With a suppressed cough, he forces those thoughts aside, scratches a hand along his chin.

"Dude, you're gettin' old," he says, voice a little colder than he'd intended as he pointedly ignores the way his own body aches.

"Fuck you," Jensen groans, finally stopping next to Jared, sucking in great lungfuls of air as he drops his his hands on his hips. "Who's-- Jesus, who's dumb idea was this anyway?"

Jared's lips curve into a smirk as he shoots Jensen another glance and pulls his half-empty water bottle from the side pocket of his shorts, contents already warmed from his body heat, but still refreshing as he takes a drink.

He hands the bottle to Jensen after, their fingers brushing briefly and Jensen gives a grateful-sounding grunt, tips his head back for his own drink. Jared watches for half a second, sees the bob of Jensen's throat before looking away, out across the expanse of blue sky and brown fields.

"Pretty good view up here," he says as another gust of wind shifts the sand at their feet.

"Mmm," Jensen says around his gulp of water. "Fuckin' better be."

Grinning again, Jared glances over, sees the frown curving Jensen's lips as well as the gleam in his eyes that tells Jared everything he already knows, that Jensen's loving this as much as Jared. And, yeah, things are kind of awkward now and maybe they won't ever be quite the same, but they're still _good_. Or okay anyway. They can still do stupid shit like drive forty miles over the speed limit for no good reason or spontaneously decide to try white water rafting or climb a 700-foot pile of sand and everything will be okay. They can pretend nothing's changed.

And Jared's fairly sure he can learn to be happy with that.

Breathing in deep, Jared stares out ahead, a wall of mountains looming up close on one side of the dunes, ominous in their majesty. Jared admires the peaks, still flanked in snow and follows the jagged line across the blue, blue sky until it curves along the horizon and fades into the distance. They create a border all around, a ragged cage of rock and dirt, locking in the dry flatland, the fields of green and brown. And he can't get over how surreal it is, this giant mound of sand in the middle of a huge Alpine valley with no ocean or beach in sight for hundreds of miles. It's completely incongruous, wonderful and mysterious and so wholly out of place.

And they're right in the middle of it, standing tall on a pillow of white.

The wind stirs the sand at their feet and Jared can feel it shifting, sneaking into his shoes, weighing them down. It powders his skin and hair, sweat making the grains turn dark along in the crook of his elbow and down his sides, clingy and itchy and he really doesn't want to imagine all the places he'll be picking clean later.

He feels Jensen bump against him, skin to skin with only a dusting of sand between and turns to smile. God, even his teeth feel gritty.

"It's beautiful, right?" he asks and Jensen throws him a glance, brow furrowed and hand raised, shielding his eyes from the sun and wind. Jared smirks at the lack of answer and deliberately bumps Jensen's shoulder again, knocking him just a little off balance. "C'mon. Admit it. You're glad you hauled your aging ass up here."

"Should've brought a sled," Jensen says. "Made you my mule."

"Next time."

It doesn't occur to him until half a second after the words are out that there will never actually _be_ a next time. They'll never stand right in this spot every again, will probably never step foot in his valley or any of the sleepy little towns therein. In just a few days they'll hit Austin. Jared will go home and Jensen will fly back to LA and that'll be it. On with their lives.

But Jensen only quirks a smile, small and knowing before he tips his head back to finish off the last of the water.

"Yeah, next time," he says after he swallows, tongue flicking out to lick his bottom lip. And Jared finds himself ignoring the words spoken only days before, the ones harsh and regretful. Up here, truth feels flexible.

Up here, there can always be a next time.

 **end.**


End file.
